


A Sweet Responsibility

by Tehri



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Ship, Bilbo/Lindir if you squint, Eighty years of friendship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 04:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2095980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tehri/pseuds/Tehri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity." - Khalil Gibran<br/>During his long journey to Erebor, Bilbo came across many strange people whom he would never have imagined to meet. Among them was an elf in Rivendell, who became one of his closest and most trusted friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sweet Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> I got the urge to write something about Bilbo and Lindir - they've known each other for so long, and I can easily see them as being close friends.  
> This has been three months coming now, and I've no idea why it took so long...

The first time they ever spoke, Bilbo approached the dark-haired elf after an evening in the Hall of Fire, fidgeting and red-faced, and asked about one of the songs he had sung.

“It sounded beautiful to my ears, but rather melancholy,” the hobbit said nervously as he stared down on his feet. “Though I couldn’t understand the words, of course…”

And Lindir, feeling quite curious about the little creature, had smiled warmly and leant back in his seat.

“It was a song called ‘ _The Fall of Gil-galad_ ’, little master,” he replied. “And melancholy it is indeed – it tells the tale of a great elven king and his last battle. It is not often sung here, but it is a beautiful piece.”

“Would… Would you… Could you perhaps tell me what the words mean?”

Lindir blinked in surprise. It wasn’t often he had such requests from any guests; they tended to be quite content with the soothing effects the songs had, and had little wish to know the words. But Bilbo looked up and met his gaze expectantly, still fidgeting with the buttons on his weskit, and Lindir found his wish for some rest quenched by the sheer joy of having someone truly interested in what he had sung approaching him. The rest of that evening Lindir spent teaching Bilbo little bits of sindarin, until the hobbit nodded off with his head leaning against the elf’s arm.

* * *

 

Their paths crossed again the very next day. After hearing the uproarious laughter of the dwarves, Lindir quietly made up his mind to avoid that particular part of the house until they had left, and wandered away from there. They may be guests of his lord Elrond, but they were such crude beings.

As he wandered through the gardens, still with the laughter reaching his ears, he came to a stop when he heard a soft humming nearby. He listened carefully, a smile spreading on his lips as he came to recognise the voice that floated to him. With slow deliberate steps, he walked around a bend in the path. There, on a bench under a beautiful old tree, sat the hobbit that had come along with the dwarves. Bilbo Baggins was smiling softly, and he kept his eyes closed; he seemed quite oblivious to the world around him.

For a moment, Lindir only stood there, watching the hobbit curiously. He knew he ought to make himself known, let the small creature be aware of his presence, but…

But he found himself rendered somewhat mute.

What could he say? That he’d heard humming and recognised the voice? That he’d been standing there for a little while already without saying anything? That he had been too busy admiring the way the sunlight fell through the leaves and illuminated the golden brown curly hair on the hobbit’s head, making it look like a halo of pure sunlight?

He blinked. Now where had that last thought come from?

At that moment, Bilbo opened his eyes and yelped in surprise when he saw the elf standing there.

“Goodness,” he gasped. “You startled me! Hullo, Master Lindir! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were there…”

With a bright smile, the hobbit moved over to make room for the elf on the bench, and Lindir came to sit down beside him.

“I had not meant to startle you, Master Baggins,” said Lindir apologetically. “I came seeking some solitude, I wasn’t aware that you were here.”

“Soli- Oh, I’m so sorry! I, well, if, if you want to be alone, I can-“

“No, please.” The elf smiled softly. “You needn’t go anywhere. Your company would be welcome.”

Bilbo shot him a jittery grin and shrugged.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he sighed. “I’m afraid the only other place I could go is back to my companions, and… Well, they do get on my nerves sometimes…”

Lindir chuckled.

“I suppose they take their jokes a bit too far?”

“Oh, you have no idea! Just this morning-“

Bilbo prattled on, gesticulating wildly as he described the latest prank Fili and Kili had pulled on him, and Lindir listened with a warm smile on his face.

* * *

 

The evenings in the Hall of Fire were most pleasant, even with the dwarves there. Though they may not like elves, they were surprisingly respectful once they entered the Hall; Lindir suspected that Mithrandir might have told them that this was not a place where interruptions were appreciated. They kept to themselves, speaking silently to one another, but still listened to the songs and the tales.

This evening, Lindir did not sing. He sat near the fire with a glass of wine in his hands, listening with a smile as others raised their voices in whatever songs or tales that came to mind. He took another sip of his wine, sighing softly at the pleasant warmth spreading through his body. It wasn’t often that he took the chance to simply listen and enjoy a drink, but as much as he loved to sing and tell tales, this was definitely quite pleasant.

“It’s a shame you’re not singing tonight.” Lindir blinked and turned his head, his face lighting up in a bright smile when he saw Bilbo standing by his side. The hobbit smiled back at him. “I quite enjoyed the song you taught me the other day. Heroes and maidens, bold deeds and a love story for the ages. Not bad at all.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Lindir chuckled. “But tell me, my friend, why aren’t you with your companions? Have they managed to get on your nerves again?”

The hobbit’s bright eyes twinkled, and he laughed silently and shook his head.

“No, luckily they’ve managed to keep from doing so,” he said. “But they’re more interested in speaking of what’s to come on our journey, and… Well, to be frank, I’d rather not think about leaving just yet.” He tilted his head. “I think I’d rather try some of that wine, and perhaps learn more of your tales, Master Lindir.”

The elf nodded and stood up.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s find a quiet corner, shall we?”

So it was that they found themselves sitting huddled together in a corner of the Hall, speaking quietly to each other and sharing a jug of wine.

However, Lindir noted with a smile, it didn’t take long before his companion swayed slightly and got a lazy content smile on his face. He slurred only ever so slightly, but entirely noticeable for an elf. Said elf chuckled quietly and eyed the now empty glass in the hobbit’s hand; admittedly, there were no glasses or cups of the size that he was probably used to, which meant he had definitely had a lot more than he thought.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink, Bilbo,” Lindir said gently as he took the glass away. “You’re tipsy already.”

Bilbo grinned up at him.

“Well, look at me,” he giggled. “I’m tiny. A glass and a half of that is a lot of wine, you know.”

“A glass and a half, indeed...”

“A glass and a half or more, doesn’t really matter. Excellent wine, really.” Bilbo yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “Makes one sleepy, though… Or maybe it’s just the heat in here.”

The elf laughed silently and shook his head.

“You ought to get some rest, Master Baggins,” he suggested, patting his friend’s shoulder. “Will you make it to your bed on your own?”

The hobbit got to his feet and stretched, and then took a few swaying steps as though trying to prove that he could walk straight. Lindir grinned and shook his head again.

“Not a chance, then,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you to bed, little master.”

And with that, the elf got up and swept the hobbit up into his arms, vaguely surprised at the lack of protests from the small creature. Instead of protesting, Bilbo curled up and leant his head against Lindir’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

“You’re warm,” he murmured. “Warm and comfortable… Sit down again, I’m fine like this.”

The tips of Lindir’s ears turned a bright pink, but he still had a smile on his face as he moved towards the door. As he was about to push the door open and leave, he suddenly paused, the hairs on his neck standing on end. Slowly, he turned his head and scanned the room, and found that the leader of the dwarf company was staring at him; the light in the Hall was dim, too dim to allow Lindir to make out the expression on the dwarf’s face. But something told him that it was not a friendly look, and he turned and left the Hall.

Thorin stared after the elf as he left with the hobbit, clenching his fist. Since when did Bilbo ever let anyone carry him like he was a bag? And an _elf_ , at that! The dwarf hadn’t been blind to how Bilbo seemed to seek the company of the elves over the company of his travelling companions; nearly every day so far he had snuck away, and when they saw him again he was always in the company of that damned elf. Linor, or whatever he was called. Fili and Kili had tried to make the hobbit feel more welcome, but perhaps the brotherly pranks hadn’t really done the job. If anything, Bilbo disappeared more often.

What Thorin wanted to know was, in what world was this fair? It was in the company of the dwarves of Erebor the hobbit travelled, it was _their_ hardships he had shared in. It was _them_ he should befriend, not the blasted elves that he should never have met in the first place if the wizard hadn’t managed to lead them here.

While Thorin was fuming in silence in the Hall, Lindir went to the room they had given Bilbo. The hobbit snoozed in his arms, lulled to sleep by the wine and the slow movements of his friend-come-caretaker. Soon, he laid in his bed with the soft covers pulled up to his chin. A content smile was on his face, and Lindir could not quite help himself as he slowly trailed his fingers through the thick golden brown curls and leant down to press a kiss to the hobbit’s forehead. The tips of his ears turned pink again as he straightened, wondering what had gotten into him. With swift and silent steps, Lindir left the room, pausing only briefly in the doorway to look back at the sleeping hobbit.

“Fair dreams to you, Bilbo,” he said softly, smiling as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

Lindir stood leaning against the rail on a balcony, staring out over the valley that bathed in the light of the evening sun; leaves shone like gold, and the river laid like a band of silver through the land. It was a beautiful sight, one that he would never tire of. There was no other place in Arda like Imladris with its fair singing rivers and its kind light, and there never would be.

Silent footsteps made him turn his head, and a smile appeared on his lips when he saw Bilbo approach him. His smile faded slightly, however, when he saw the troubled look on the hobbit’s face. It was a look that just didn’t seem to belong there on that kind face.

Bilbo looked up at him, giving a short tense smile.

“We leave in two days,” he said quietly. “They seem to be of the mind that staying here much longer would be akin to catching a disease.”

Lindir frowned and stared out over the valley again. Bilbo stood beside him and sighed softly.

“It’s ridiculous,” the hobbit continued. “Do you know Thorin has actually tried to keep me from wandering away from them? Told me I shouldn’t spend so much time with elves, and that I would only end up talking about things I shouldn’t…”

“Why do you travel with them, Bilbo?”

The hobbit blinked in surprise and looked up at his friend. There was a pensive look on Lindir’s face, and only when their eyes met could Bilbo see that the elf was indeed troubled.

“Well…” He shook his head and smiled faintly. “I got roped into this by Gandalf, and you don’t really say no to a wizard, do you? And I did sign the contract, so…”

“But you’re not truly obliged to do this, are you?”

“Well, the contract would imply-“

“Bilbo, you know what I mean.” Lindir turned and knelt down, placing one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You could easily turn back, could you not? You don’t enjoy travelling, you’ve told me so many times now. And still you follow them. I can’t understand why, when you have every chance in the world to put your foot down and just let them go.” He smiled carefully and tilted his head. “You could… You could stay here for a time, if it would please you. And then someone could lead you safely back to your own land, once you felt up for the journey home. Wouldn’t that be better?”

The hobbit gave him a helpless smile. That was the only answer Lindir needed. It wasn’t that simple, and though it would be easier if it could be so, it just couldn’t. He didn’t have that chance.

“I wouldn’t forgive myself, Lindir,” Bilbo said softly. “I miss the Shire. I miss Bag End. I miss my garden, my books, my neighbours and relatives… I miss everything. But I can’t go home yet, you see… They’re my friends, Lindir, I can’t just… I can’t just leave like that, can I? They’re counting on me to come with them. Can you imagine the fuss they would start if I suddenly told them that I’m not going any further?”

“Then let them! They don’t own you, Bilbo, and if you want to go home, then you can go without them having a say about it.”

The hobbit chuckled and took his friend’s hand.

“It’s kind of you, Lindir,” he said. “But I will be going with them. We’ll pass over the mountains, and we’ll reach the Lonely Mountain on time.”

The look of dismay on the elf’s face wiped away his smile. Lindir carefully squeezed his hand and stared into his eyes.

“What of the dragon?” he asked quietly. “What will you do about that beast? Steal the treasure from under his feet? You know as well as I do that it’s a ludicrous venture. Why would you put yourself in harm’s way for the sake of gold and jewels?”

“Because it’s not about gold and jewels.”

Lindir blinked in surprise. Bilbo seemed determined now, and he met the elf’s gaze steadily; there was not a single hint of hesitation or doubt in those bright eyes.

“It’s about having a home to go back to,” he said firmly. “You have Rivendell always waiting for you if you wander, and I have the Shire. But these dwarves? They are trying to reclaim their homeland, not a treasure.” He sighed and shook his head. “Dear Lindir, I understand that elves and dwarves aren’t fond of each other, but really. They’re good people.”

So it was that when the dwarves were ready to set out, and the elves of Elrond’s house gathered to say farewell, Lindir took Bilbo aside one last time to try to convince him that it wasn’t worth it. Bilbo remained firm in his decision to go with his friends, however, and Lindir could only sigh as he knelt down and pulled the hobbit into a warm embrace.

“Be safe, little master,” he said. “You travel into dangerous lands, Bilbo, so keep your wits about you.”

“Such a worrywart,” Bilbo teased, a wide grin on his face. “Don’t fear for me. I travel with warriors, after all, and we hobbits are known to be swift and silent.”

As the hobbit went over to see if any help was needed with the ponies, Lindir looked after him with a sad smile. His gaze swept over the company, only to lock with a pair of ice-blue eyes that glared at him. Thorin truly did not seem happy.

And he wasn’t. Not in the least. For the life of him, Thorin couldn’t understand what his burglar saw in that tree-shagger. There was nothing appealing about elves. And why, _why_ , by Mahal’s blessed balls, would the hobbit be so free with touches around that creature? Didn’t he know that dwarves were just as much for pats on the back or embraces? He didn’t need to seek physical contact with a bloody elf, he didn’t need an elf in his life _at all_ , and that was _final_.

_‘No more elves’_ , the dwarf thought bitterly. _‘Especially if they can’t keep their damn hands off the hobbit.’_

* * *

 

Leaving Rivendell gave Bilbo a feeling of homesickness; at first he wasn’t certain about if Lindir’s words were nagging at his mind, or if it was something else. But after a while, he found himself thinking more about Rivendell than his dear home in the Shire. He’d felt welcome, he’d felt right at home. The elves may have given the dwarves a wide berth at times, but Bilbo had been fussed over and spoken to as though he belonged there. Lindir had laughingly explained that many of the valley’s inhabitants had never seen a hobbit before, and curiosity had been spiked everywhere at the sight of the small creature with its curly hair and bare furry feet.

He sighed and looked up towards the mountains. There led their path now, past the mountains and past the lands beyond them.

“We won’t need to spend much time in the mountain passes, hopefully,” Balin had said when he had asked. “Then we’ll reach the wild lands beyond, and we shall have to pass Mirkwood and the Long Lake. The road is far longer than it seems.”

The poor hobbit felt more uprooted than he had after the incident with the trolls. He’d been given the opportunity to go home, and the Baggins-side of his soul was now scolding him soundly for not taking it.

“Well, now I’ve taken the decision to go,” he muttered to himself. “There’s no turning back now.”

Those words sadly couldn’t stop the Baggins-side from telling him that he was a fool for not accepting Lindir’s offer. Staying a bit longer in Rivendell could have been wonderful, and then getting to go home again… But there was no use dwelling on it now.

* * *

 

Lindir leant heavily against the rail on the balcony where, nearly eleven months ago, he had tried to convince Bilbo Baggins to not follow the dwarves any further. The year had turned, and he had watched the leaves fall from the trees and start to spring out again. The months had passed slowly, painfully so, while he waited in silence. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that an evil fate had befallen the company away in the east; the lands had grown more dangerous as of late, and it was no place for a hobbit at all.

It was the evening of the first of May, as fine as one could wish. The sun was still shining, and the birds sang merrily in the trees. It was a day that would normally have him wander through the gardens, singing softly to himself. But not this time. He had a strange feeling of that he needed to see the path that led down into the valley. It was only barely visible, even to his sharp eyes, half hidden behind trees as it was. But he thought he could see something move along the path…

His ears caught the sound of joyful cries and song, rising suddenly some distance off. Still he would not leave his place on the balcony.

He could hear that there was a commotion in the house, but he paid no attention to it. It didn’t matter. Most likely, Elrond’s sons were back again. There was always quite a commotion when Elladan and Elrohir returned to their father’s house after one of their excursions.

But soon he heard silent footfalls approaching, and a laugh that had become more familiar to him than his own sounded just behind him.

“How long have you stood here like a statue, Master Lindir?”

Lindir spun around, eyes wide; there stood the beaming hobbit Bilbo Baggins. The small creature had yet to wash off the dust of travelling, and he looked quite tired. But he stood there all the same, arms stretched out to welcome a hug. And the elf found himself kneeling down and pulling the laughing hobbit into a tight embrace.

“You look terrible,” Lindir said quietly, smiling all the same as he pulled back to peer into Bilbo’s bright eyes. “Were you ever allowed to sleep on this journey of yours?”

“Hobbits can be nocturnal, didn’t you know that?” Bilbo asked with a chuckle. “But right now, I’m more hungry than anything. I could eat anything for hours. Travelling rations are not made for hobbits.”

Lindir laughed and stood again, leading his friend away to find some food to sate his hunger.

Late that evening, they all sat in the Hall of Fire and listened as Gandalf told the tale of the grand adventure; Bilbo sat leaning against Lindir, dozing and yet listening to the tale. He was exhausted, but did not seem willing to leave the Hall just yet. But as the tale approached the end, and Gandalf told of the Battle of Five Armies, Lindir noticed how his small friend got tense. This seemed to be a part of the story that he hadn’t wished to hear.

So the tale of the deaths of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews Fili and Kili reached Rivendell. It was a sad tale to hear, for they had been braver than most in the last hours of their lives. Once Gandalf spoke of the aftermath, Bilbo got up and quietly left the Hall, and Lindir followed him.

“It’s not fair,” said Bilbo as he slowly walked towards the room given to him. “If they had heeded Thorin’s demands, if the Elvenking had just left and Bard had approached without weapons… None of this might’ve happened.”

Lindir shook his head.

“I’m not so certain, my friend,” he said slowly. “The goblins were already on the move. And without the elves of Mirkwood, the battle might not even have been won.”

They remained silent until they reached the door to Bilbo’s room. The hobbit looked up at his friend and frowned, and even in the dim light Lindir could see how tears rose in his eyes.

“They didn’t have to die,” he said. “They didn’t _deserve_ to die. The gold might have enchanted them, but they were good people all along. They just… They didn’t want to be trampled on anymore.”

The elf nodded and knelt, gently touching Bilbo’s cheek.

“Many who die deserve life, Bilbo,” he said softly. “Your friends were among those. But such is the way of this world. Some must die so that others may live. Who’s to say that they would not have survived if someone else had passed?” He shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Bilbo. I wish I could say for certain, but… Dwelling on should-have’s is never a good thing.”

The hobbit nodded and smiled sadly. Gandalf had told him the same thing, when they had spoken about the loss of the three heirs of Durin. He knew the words were true, but it was difficult to not dwell on it sometimes. If he had done something differently, if he hadn’t given the Arkenstone away, if, if, if…

He swayed where he stood, and Lindir swept him up and carried him to bed.

“Sleep now, little master,” the elf said. “Sleep, and do not be troubled by what might have been.” He smiled softly as he put the hobbit down in the bed. “And if you are, come and find me, and I shall try to chase away those dark thoughts.”

Just as Bilbo drifted off to sleep, he felt soft lips press against his forehead, and he thought he heard a warm melodious voice sing silently of water and rest.

* * *

 

Bilbo didn’t often come to visit Rivendell in the years that followed his journey to Erebor. The few times he did come, he didn’t stay for long; he had his life in the Shire to think about, after all. But whenever he visited Elrond’s house, he made sure to speak with Lindir.

With all the news that streamed into Imladris from distant lands, news of how the lands grew dangerous and how orc-packs were becoming a more usual thing, Lindir loved to hear news of the peaceful land to the west that Bilbo called his home. And as the hobbit had relatives all over the Shire, he had news from all four farthings. Bilbo told him of his rapidly increasing amount of relatives, of his dear Bag End, of how the Sackville-Bagginses never stopped hounding him, and whatever else came to mind. The elf inquired about the land itself, of how harvest had been during a particular year, if the land was tended well, and so forth. And the hobbit was happy to give whatever information he could.

But then one year, he didn’t come, though he had promised that he would be there. When Lindir next had news of his friend, it was via a letter delivered by Gandalf. The wizard explained that there was family-trouble looming on the horizon for Bilbo, and that he didn’t have the time to undertake a journey now. And reading the letter, Lindir could certainly see why.

_4 Thrimmidge_

_Bag End_

_Hobbiton_

_My dear Lindir,_

_Forgive me for not making the journey to the fair Imladris this year, though I did promise that I would. I fear I must remain in the Shire for some time to come now, but you do deserve to know why._

_On the last day of Astron, my cousin Drogo Baggins passed away, along with his wife, my cousin Primula Brandybuck. They drowned in the Brandywine River._

_I have only just received these news, and I am preparing to travel to Buckland._

_Drogo and Primula were not childless – their son Frodo still lives, and there is some disagreement regarding what is to happen to him now. The Brandybucks wish for him to remain with them, of course, as he has lived there for all twelve years of his life, but I can’t help but feel that it may not be the best course._

_What am I to do, Lindir? The lad is dear to me, and it would be good for him, I feel, to come away from the river. He’s a clever lad, and I certainly would not mind having him stay with me at Bag End. But am I then to go against all my Brandybuck relations? I may mention that there is Took-blood in some of them, and they are stubborn as mules when they want to be. They may not take very kindly to my suggestion._

_Forgive an old hobbit’s ramblings, my friend. I fear I am not quite myself._

_I suppose I ought to do as my old travelling companions often did. My family needs me, but I must be strong for their sake._

_I hope to write to you again soon to let you know what has passed._

_Your friend,_

_Bilbo_

 

It was nearing the end of October when Gandalf returned to the Shire. Bilbo welcomed him cheerfully enough, but there was no hiding that the hobbit was troubled. Gandalf didn’t need to ask why; he had been there when Bilbo received the news of his cousins’ deaths, and he had seen how the grief had been pushed aside for a later date when their son still needed help.

But there did come a genuine smile on the hobbit’s face when the wizard handed him a letter.

“Lindir wrote to you while I was still in Rivendell,” Gandalf explained. “My apologies for not bringing it to you sooner, but there was some pressing business I had to attend first.”

“I’ll read it later,” said Bilbo calmly and put the letter in his pocket. “Tell me now, Gandalf, do you have any news from the wide world for me?”

It was already late evening when Bilbo finally took the time to read the letter. He couldn’t help but smile as he opened it and saw his friend’s handwriting; a little spidery, like his own, but certainly a bit more elegant.

_Dear Bilbo,_

_Do not ask me to forgive you when you already know that I will. Rather, please forgive me for what I assume has been a long delay – Mithrandir does not know, at this time, when he will be visiting you next, and I know no other who makes such frequent visits to the Shire._

_I am truly sorry to hear that you have lost your cousins. I do remember what you told me of them when you last visited, and they seemed like very good hobbits to me. To hear that their child lives is good news, but wrapped in sorrow. I assume that by the time you receive this, you will know what is to become of him._

_You say that you must be strong, for the sake of your relatives, but did you think, Bilbo, that they may feel the same? You mustn’t drop your own grief by the side of the road as you rush to help them with theirs – you never know if you will be able to pick it up again, and if not, you will not be able to even glance in its direction. Promise me that you take the time, Bilbo. Think of your cousins, remember them well, both good times and bad. If you wish to be of any help at all, you must walk down the grieving road._

_As for what you are to do about the child… I cannot claim to know how hobbits usually go about matters such as this, but is there any knowledge at all regarding what his parents may have wanted? Adhering to their wishes may be the best course of action. But if it turns out that they wished for you to care for the child, do you truly believe that your relations might go against you? They may have Took-blood in their veins, but so do you, my dear little master. Was it not your Took-blood that drove you to continue your journey with the dwarves? Was it not that same connection that made you speak to a dragon and escape with your life?_

_If your relatives wish to be stubborn and keep a grieving child so close to reminders of his parents’ deaths, then you must summon whatever stubbornness you can muster and put your foot down. Knowing you, Bilbo, I can honestly say that you can hold out far longer than they ever could. You will not be kept from the child._

_I hope to have more news from you soon. Good luck with everything._

_Yours,_

_Lindir_

He read through the letter twice before putting it down, sighing softly and shaking his head. Trust an elf to make a difficult matter sound so simple. And yet, the good Lindir had a point.

“What good is it to Frodo if I mope around,” Bilbo muttered to himself, running his fingers through his thick curls. “I’m his primary guardian, after all. Of course Esmeralda and Menegilda worry and want to keep him there, but what good is that? Claiming I cannot care for a child, such utter nonsense!”

Of course it would take time. But Lindir was right – he had to put his foot down, stubborn hobbit lasses or no, and bring young Frodo to Bag End.

* * *

 

How the years had passed. Sixty long years since the Quest for Erebor, and still he lived, still he wandered. Bilbo was not one to let age hinder him. He had made up his mind, and he was not going back to the Shire this time. He needed to get away, get some room to breathe. Not even the ring, which he had left (however reluctantly) in Frodo’s hands, would make him turn back now.

The ring. His precious golden ring that had saved him from so many dangers before, and still had kept him safe among the green hills of his homeland. Such a strange feeling it had been to give it up, and stranger still as it happened at the behest of Gandalf. The old wizard had been worried about something, Bilbo felt sure of that.

The old hobbit lifted his head and gazed up at the mighty mountains that loomed before him. He was on his way back west from Erebor, after having visited his old companions. And now, he was intending to pass just beyond the mountains and down into a deep valley, where the oldest of his friends lived in peace. It was time to take them up on an old invitation.

The welcoming of the old hobbit in Rivendell was quite grand; Bilbo had many friends there, and he was quickly made very comfortable in a nice room of his own. But no matter how many long talks he had with Elrond and the other elves, no matter how comfortable and happy he was in the valley, he still could not shake the feeling that he ought to have continued on to the Shire and fetched his ring.

Even now, when he sat beside Lindir in the Hall of Fire and listened to his friend’s song, he couldn’t keep his mind from straying to the glorious golden trinket. He stared into the flames on the hearth, remembering how such light had made the ring shine like nothing else back in Bag End when he took it out to look at it during the evenings. Remembering that one time he had dropped it and given a shout when it nearly fell into the fire, only just hitting the edge of the hearth and rolling away from it.

A hand touching his shoulder jerked him out of his thoughts, and he looked up in bewilderment into the bright eyes of Lindir. The elf smiled at him and tilted his head.

“I asked if you enjoyed the song, little master,” he said gently. “Though perhaps you were so deep in thought that you could not hear me?”

The hobbit shot his friend a faint smile and shrugged.

“I was listening, Lindir, I promise,” replied Bilbo. “But I fear my mind is elsewhere than here in the midst of all this music and storytelling.”

They sat in silence for a long while. Bilbo stared into the fire once again and allowed his mind to wander; but Lindir’s eyes strayed time and again to the hobbit’s face, seeking an explanation for the strange mood his friend was in. There was a dark frown on the kindly round face and a gleam in the bright eyes that had never been there before.

“You seem troubled, Bilbo,” said Lindir carefully, noting how the hobbit’s eyes darted to him and back to the fire again. “You mustn’t carry everything on your own; I hope you know that…” He smiled softly and placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder again. “If you need to clear the air a little, I’ll gladly offer whatever advice I can.”

Slowly, almost painfully so, the frown on Bilbo’s face gave way to a small smile, and a humorous glint returned to his eyes.

“Advice, you say? And here this poor old hobbit thought advices were dangerous gifts that elves seldom give, my dear master Lindir.”

“So they are, little master, but who could not be tempted to aid a hobbit?” laughed Lindir, feeling an immense relief at the return of the familiar behaviour of his friend.

* * *

 

How many years had it been now? Just short of seventeen years since Bilbo had come to stay at Rivendell? In the eyes of an elf, that was a horribly short period of time, and it was simply not fair that the peace should be broken so soon. But fair or not, it happened, and now the old hobbit sat with his cousins and their friend and tried to give them some comfort and hope.

The look in Bilbo’s eyes when he’d heard of what happened to his heir could only be described as a look of terror. Lindir was not certain that he could ever forget it; not to mention the looks of the young hobbits that later arrived with Aragorn. They had seen far too much during the weeks of travel. And seeing the small creatures now, huddled together in a vague attempt to find comfort and weeping for their injured companion, would be enough to break the heart of anyone.

As twilight fell on the valley, Bilbo sent the younger hobbits to get some sleep. Though they protested at first, they were soon persuaded by their own exhaustion; the old hobbit watched them leave with a faint smile. There was joy in seeing the young lads again, but he wished so dearly that they could have been left in peace in their homes.

“Paladin and Saradoc will never let their boys go anywhere again,” he muttered softly to himself. “Especially Paladin. And good old Hamfast would order Samwise to work elsewhere.” His smile faded slowly as tears rose in his eyes, and he shook his head. “Oh, my Frodo, what have we done to them, you and I? And what have I done to you? I’d not be surprised if all the blame landed on me, and that would perhaps be the wise course…”

“You cannot be blamed for something you did not start, little master.”

Bilbo jumped and quickly turned his head, seeing Lindir coming towards him.

“Lord Elrond does all that he can for your cousin,” the elf said as he sat down beside his friend. “He shan’t let anyone in his house fade while there’s still hope for them.”

The hobbit smiled faintly and nodded. He was well aware of this fact, and had been reassured about this several times already; but the worry for Frodo’s life would not leave him, not until he was truly out of harm’s way.

Lindir watched his friend’s smile fade away again. It had done so often lately, since news had reached the valley of Frodo leaving his home. In his heart, Lindir silently blessed Gildor for having told Frodo to leave the Shire and not travel alone, and for sending word to everyone he could think of so quickly. It had done Bilbo some good to hear that his nephew would at least not undertake the journey alone when the lands had become so dangerous.

And still…

Had Bilbo ever truly looked his age until now? He was a hundred and twenty-eight years old already, and still he hadn’t let his age hinder him when he wandered around in the valley or chatted animatedly with the elves. At most, he had complained of his aching legs, and that only when he had wandered a bit further than usual.

But the hobbit who sat beside Lindir now looked exhausted and ancient, as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You must be tired, Bilbo,” the elf said softly and placed a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “You need your rest, as the young ones do.”

For a moment, Bilbo looked as though he wanted to protest; he straightened and squared his shoulders and lifted his head to glare at his friend. Then, just as their eyes met, he let out a deep sigh, and his shoulders sagged again.

“I suppose you’re right,” he muttered and gave a weak smile. “Don’t you elves ever tire of being right all the time?”

“Not when it’s for the good of your health, master Baggins.”

* * *

 

They were leaving. They were all leaving. Bilbo was shaking of cold were he stood outside the house along with everyone else, waiting for the twilight to set in. The recently formed Fellowship was ready to leave Rivendell and set out on their journey.

He had feared that his nephew would have to be the one to go; while his own offer had been completely serious, he had known all along that it would not be accepted due to his age and what might happen if he were to possess the Ring again. And now Frodo stood there, shivering and staring out into the gloom. The poor lad looked as though he would rather turn back time and be a little child listening to his uncle’s tales again. And Bilbo could only close his eyes and wish that things had stayed that way.

But not only Frodo would go. If he had feared before that the journey might have been too much for Meriadoc, Peregrin and Samwise, then what would this be? Sam would naturally go with Frodo – there was no question of that, and Bilbo had not even tried to argue about it. The dear lad was determined to go where his master went, and though he looked nervous and thoughtful now when he double-checked all that he had packed, he was hardly going to turn around now.

Merry and Pippin had always been Frodo’s shadows, and Bilbo knew all too well that nothing could make them stay. He had heard of how Elrond suggested that the two return to the Shire and bring the news of the outside world to their people, but there had been none of that. Bilbo sighed softly; perhaps it would have been for the best if they had gone home. Saradoc and Paladin must be worried sick, not to mention Esmeralda and Eglantine. But at the same time… Frodo would need his dear cousins with him, would he not? He’d need their support and their presence to make this journey easier.

And Aragorn. Even he would leave now, and though the old hobbit understood all too well how much this journey would mean to him, he still wondered if there could not be another way. Wouldn’t the rangers be needed here in the north? Wouldn’t they need their chief with them?

And Gandalf… Well, there was no point in trying to argue about that, was there? The wizard always came and went as he pleased, and if one argued about his decision, there would only be a sharp reprimand in response.

All his dear friends were leaving, and Bilbo would not have any way of knowing whether they would come back or not. If they would survive. If they would make it to the very end. Or if they would fail and be lost in the wild lands.

He was only vaguely aware of the voices around him calling out their farewells when the Fellowship set out, and if he said anything himself, he couldn’t remember it. He wanted to run after them, he wanted to embrace them all and tell them how much they meant to him, he wanted to beg them to stay…

A warm hand on his shoulder made him look up. Lindir stood beside him, with a grim look on his fair face that Bilbo had never seen before.

“All we can do now,” said the elf quietly, “is to wait.”

And all the old hobbit could do was nod and let himself be led back inside the warm house. Waiting would be a painful and worrisome task, but there was nothing else to be done. At the very least, he would have company.

* * *

 

In the early hours of the morning in mid-March, Bilbo sat alone in his rooms, staring out through the window and looking for the signs of dawn. He had barely slept that night, feeling far too anxious for any rest. Something was wrong. Every sound that reached his ears seemed mournful somehow, and dawn seemed reluctant to break.

_'Night oft brings news to near kindred_ ', he thought sadly. _'May the Valar bring a sign to tell me that my presumption is wrong…'_

Somewhere, Bilbo felt, his nephew had died.

The thought had refused to leave him, no matter what he had tried to distract himself with. But there were no tears, and there would be none until he knew for sure.

“May the stars light your path, my dear boy,” he whispered softly. “And may they bring you back to me…”

Stumbling as he rose from his seat, the old hobbit turned away from the window and left his rooms. A walk would do him good, no matter the hour, and there were always some others awake if he wished for company.

As he stepped out into the gardens, Bilbo gazed up at the sky again, hoping that the sight of Elbereth’s stars would calm him. But the sky was dark, covered with clouds. Not a single twinkle of light could be seen.

“Can you not find any rest, Bilbo?” Lindir’s voice sounded just behind the old hobbit, quiet and kind.

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile faintly as a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. The elf had kept a close eye on him lately, especially after the nights became increasingly restless. He was an ever present source of comfort, no matter what happened.

“The stars are hidden from view tonight,” he sighed. “There’s no rest to be had for me, I’m afraid, not now.”

He didn’t need to explain why; all in Rivendell waited anxiously for news. Lindir knelt behind his friend and pulled him into a warm embrace, hoping to soothe Bilbo’s restless mind as well as his own.

Eleven more days passed in this uneasy manner. Bilbo was often joined by Lindir or lady Arwen, though they spoke little and gazed to the east, as though hoping that each rising and setting sun would bring them new tidings. Bilbo wondered vaguely when he had last felt so anxious; perhaps the time when he’d been chased by Gollum in the dark goblin caves in the mountains all those years ago? Or when he and his companions had huddled in the secret tunnel in Erebor, fearing and knowing that the dragon would find the door?

_'I prepared for death back then'_ , he thought to himself. _'Trying to prepare for the death of a loved one is quite different, Bilbo Baggins, and you know it.'_

The twelfth day came. It was late afternoon, and Bilbo sat with Lindir in the gardens and spoke quietly. Suddenly they both fell silent and listened; the birdsong had stopped. Even the sounds of the running water seemed to fade. Then they felt a change.

It was as though a bell had tolled, a clear and cool note that echoed through their minds. A tremor went through the earth, and the heaviness that had rested in the air since the day the Fellowship left the valley slowly faded away. Then the moment passed again, and the birds began to sing, stronger and with more delight than ever before.

Bilbo slowly turned his head to look at his friend.

“What on earth just happened?” he asked slowly. “Lindir? What just-“

A burst of laughter stopped him, and suddenly he was swept into Lindir’s arms and was being swung around as though he were a small child.

“It’s over, Bilbo, it’s finally over!” Lindir’s joyful shriek sounded like that of a child that had just received the very gift they had longed for on their birthday, and he laughed and laughed and held the hobbit close. “Can’t you feel it? They made it! Your brilliant nephew made it!”

“And here I thought elves were dignified,” Bilbo gasped. “Put me down, you dolt! Preferably before you lose your grip!”

The elf promptly fell to his knees, still with his arms around his friend, and still laughing.

“I can scarcely believe it,” he grinned. “Such mighty deeds you hobbits are capable of, little master! Anything from reclaiming kingdoms to destroying ancient evils that none have ever truly defeated before! Your family is full of wonders, Bilbo!”

“Ancient evils, indeed,” said Bilbo quietly. There was no smile on his face, no relief. “Now, if only you in your joy could assure me that my boys still live…”

* * *

 

As soon as word came from Lothlórien that all was well, preparations had been made for Elrond and Arwen to leave Rivendell. Bilbo had begged to not be left behind, but the Lord of Rivendell had not budged at all.

“Your health is not what it once was, my friend,” he said gently. “Listen to me, Bilbo, and stay here. I would not bring you on the long journey to Gondor only to have your health fail on the way. I will bring your cousins back safely, I promise.”

Bilbo had wept then, but he would not argue when that particular point had been made. What use would it be if he travelled with them and died on the way? What better way to cause his friends more grief?

No, Bilbo remained in Rivendell and waited. And waited. Time seemed to pass slower than ever before. Summer came and went, and autumn approached. The first shifts in the leaves’ colours had begun to appear. September ran towards its end.

On the 21st of September, Bilbo and Lindir sat in the old hobbit’s rooms together. They were looking over a new poem Bilbo had written, one that he was keen to get some critique on. But in the midst of a sentence, the old hobbit lifted his hand to silence Lindir and turned his head to stare at the door. Had he really just heard…?

There were voices drifting down the hallway, along with silent footsteps, silent the way only hobbit-feet can walk. Lindir chuckled softly as he watched his friend jump up from his seat and stumble over to the door, pulling it open after the very first knock. There stood the four young hobbits Bilbo had waited for so long, all grinning brightly. The elf smiled and shook his head when he saw how tears rose in the old hobbit’s eyes.

“Never make your old uncle wait so long again, you rascal,” Bilbo managed to choke out as he threw his arms around his nephew. “ _Never_ , do you hear me?! Have some care for my age, lad, my old heart can’t handle much more of this!”

Laughing and weeping at once, the younger hobbits embraced him. Lindir found himself laughing as well as he watched them, feeling an immense relief at the sound of their voices chattering away.

“I slew an actual _troll_ , Bilbo, can you believe it?!”

“That’s nothing, _Sam_ fought a giant spider, like in your tales!”

“But a _troll_ , Merry! An actual troll!”

“We know, you haven’t stopped chattering about it, you goose!”

“And you’ll never guess what else showed up, straight out of your tales, Bilbo-“

“No, don’t ruin it, let Frodo and Sam tell that bit!”

“Now, lads, one at a time! How on earth am I supposed to hear what you’re saying like this?”

* * *

 

Leaning heavily against the railing, Bilbo stared out across the seemingly endless expanse of the ocean. He had never even dreamt that there might be so much water somewhere; who knew what the waves might be hiding far below the ship.

Though his mind had drifted more and more in the two years following the destruction of the Ring, the old hobbit couldn’t help but think that he was more clearheaded than ever before.

“Must be the sweet air,” he mumbled to himself with a smile. “Nothing in Rivendell aged, except me. A change of scenery was just what I needed, I suppose.”

“Are you stating that it was our fault that your mind grew muddled, my friend?” Bilbo turned his head and smirked at the approaching elf. Lindir grinned cheerfully at him and tilted his head. “Because I think that may be a little bit offensive.”

“I’d rather offend you than Gandalf,” Bilbo snorted. “The risk of being a toad tomorrow is significantly smaller.”

The dark-haired elf chuckled and shook his head, placing one hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“I think I’d rather blame your age, actually,” he said calmly. “A hundred and thirty-one years is not bad for your kind.”

“My dear grandfather Gerontius must be turning in his grave,” Bilbo replied smugly. “Beaten by one year, by an uppity grandson who might not even have done it on his own merit.”

In an instant, the smile was gone from Lindir’s face, and he turned a concerned gaze on his friend.

“You can’t know for sure,” he objected. “And considering your stubbornness and your iron constitution, you would surely have made it even without the Ring.”

The old hobbit smiled at him and shrugged.

“As you said, I can’t know for sure,” he said lightly. “All in all, it doesn’t matter. Because here we are, and the past is too fickle to be changed.”

“Here we are, indeed…”

They stood in silence for a while and stared out across the water. Somewhere in the faraway mists rested Middle Earth, and the land where Bilbo had grown up.

“At least the Shire is in good hands by now,” Bilbo sighed. “Paladin makes an excellent Thain, and I always knew that Saradoc would make a good Master of Buckland… And of course Meriadoc and Peregrin will make use of their wits once they claim the positions. And dear old Bag End has been given to the only family who really deserves it…”

“The only one?”

“You look me in the eye, elf, and tell me that Samwise Gamgee isn’t the hobbit who most deserves a good home for his family.”

Lindir laughed quietly. They’d had this discussion before, and it seemed that there wasn’t a single person on the ship who thought that Bag End should have been given to another.

“You’re not having second thoughts about leaving, are you?” he asked.

“It’s a little too late for that,” Bilbo muttered. “But if I ever had second thoughts about leaving the Shire at all, I’m sure they’re long forgotten.” A grin passed over his face. “And just imagine if I _hadn’t_ left with Thorin and his company eighty years ago! We would have been in a fine mess by now, old friend!”

“I’m not certain that’s anything to laugh at,” Lindir said slowly, looking rather green in the face. “It would have been rather horrifying.”

Bilbo laughed and took the elf’s hand.

“I’m glad that no dragons ever got to fly over Rivendell,” he grinned. “And I’m glad I was given the honour of accompanying you on this journey.”

“Likely the last you’ll make, dear Bilbo,” Lindir replied as he gave the old hobbit’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“But in good company,” Bilbo said. “And without dragons to worry about, this time.”

“True.”

“Only old Fastitocalon.”

“Fastitocalon?”

“Ah, it’s an old hobbit-verse. I thought for sure I’d told you about that one.”

“I don’t think you have.”

“Twenty years and I haven’t told you?”

“We need to pass the journey somehow, master Bilbo. Do enlighten me about old Fastitocalon.”


End file.
